


It's Never Goodbye; It's Just 'Till Next Time

by ignite_pass_tetsuya



Series: Seirin Week 2015 [6]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gen, Goodbyes, Locker Room, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-10 00:02:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4369463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignite_pass_tetsuya/pseuds/ignite_pass_tetsuya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second years are now third years who are graduating. As they clean out their lockers, they reminisce about their careers and find it difficult to terms with leaving Seirin behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Never Goodbye; It's Just 'Till Next Time

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this based on a lot of my own feelings about having my senior basketball season come to an end.

“Hey, Hyuuga. Remember this?”

Kiyoshi flicked something towards Hyuuga, who caught it in both hands. The golden medal glistened, even in the relatively dim lighting of the locker room. It hung on a white and red band, a bow adorning the top of the medal. Across the back, the word CHAMPIONS was engraved in elegant script.

“Yeah… ‘course I remember. Hard to forget that day.”

The first moment that came back to him was the end of that championship game against Rakuzan during their second year. They had been down by 4, but Hyuuga had figured out how to take Mibuchi’s Earth shot and make it his own. He sunk the three and drew the foul, leaving only a single-point difference between Seirin and their opponent. The crowd had gone insane, and his teammates had jumped off the bench, shouting and waving their fists in the air. He knew he’d never forget that moment for as long as he lived.

“We all pulled off that final play perfectly,” Hyuuga said.

“It started with you,” Izuki interjected. “It takes more skill than you think to miss a free throw that perfectly. It went right to Kiyoshi.” He rummaged around his locker, pulling out two sets of practice clothes and folding them before placing them into his duffel bag.

“Yeah, it was a perfect miss,” Kiyoshi said with a small smile. “But it really started with you, Izuki. That steal of yours? That started everything.”

“Hah, thanks, Kiyoshi. For once, I wasn’t joking around. But everything after that free throw happened so fast…”

“I remember it all!” Koga said. “It was quick, but it was so cool! Right, Mitobe?”

Koga looked to his right, leaning back to peek around his locker door. Mitobe set a folded towel in his own bag before turning and nodding, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. He brought his hands up and mimicked holding a ball, his elbows out, like he’d just ripped down a rebound.

Koga turned to Kiyoshi and said, “Mitobe said your rebound was really impressive ‘cause you had to beat out Nebuya for it, even though your knee was hurting!”

Kiyoshi let out a deep laugh. “Thanks, Mitobe. I just remember seeing Kuroko break away from Mayuzumi enough to get the pass, but I don’t think I remembered to breathe at all when he passed it to Kagami afterwards. Not until the whistle blew and we were crowned the victors. I’d never felt so tense and nervous in a game before.”

“But you just _had_ to say it, didn’t you?” Kiyoshi looked to Hyuuga who still held the Winter Cup 1 st place medal between his slim fingers. “You had to say it was our final play.”

A heavy silence fell over the locker room. Sure, they had gotten another year to play after that, so it wasn’t their _final_ final play. But now that they were standing before their lockers, cleaning them out to make room for a new influx of players the coming season, the word “final” hurt worse than it did before.

“It’s really the end… Isn’t it?” Tsuchida said, finally speaking up. “Man… It stings.”

Kiyoshi pulled a picture out from under a set of magnets on the inside of his locker door. It was the first team picture they had taken together after the club had been officially established. They all seemed happy, even Hyuuga, despite his indifferent expression.

“We’ve come a long way since then,” he noted, placing the picture beside his half-packed duffel.

Slowly, the six of them went back to methodically clearing their lockers of their belongings and packing them away into their respective bags. None of them said much after that, besides an occasionally muffled “’scuse me” as they moved past each other and around the benches. Hyuuga eventually handed back Kiyoshi’s medal, and he carefully placed it and his picture on the top of his clothes in his bag so they would be safe before zipping it closed. He closed his locker, looking for the last time at the characters of his name, “KIYOSHI”, spelled out on the label at the top of the door. With a heavy heart, he peeled the label away, leaving the surface blank.

He looked around, seeing similar hesitation on the faces of his teammates as they eventually got up the will to remove the labels from their own lockers. It was painful to watch. Though he knew the memories and moments shared would stay with him forever, it still felt as though they were losing a part of themselves as they made final checks to ensure they had gathered everything. Most of all, it was painful knowing he had been forced to miss a large portion of his final season due to his knee. He tried not to dwell on it and remember to be thankful for the games he _could_ participate in, thanks in large part to the great care he’d received in America.

They all turned to the entrance when they heart a soft knock on the door, followed by a muffled, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, you’re good,” Hyuuga said back.

The doorknob slowly turned, and the door swung inward to reveal Riko standing in the hallway. She hesitated before entering, heading for the bench, but she seemed to think better of it and went back to shut the door behind her before finally meeting the faces of her players.

“I just wanted to talk to you all,” she said. “If it weren’t for you guys, I wouldn’t be here now, so…”

“Oh, Riko…” Kiyoshi said, noting the sad tone of the coach’s voice.

“I wanted to say thank you, mostly. You all know how reluctant I was to coach this team when it first formed, because I didn’t want to coach a team that wasn’t aiming for the top. I wanted to be the best, and I wanted a team that felt the same. Well… You guys sure proved yourselves to me, and to all of Japan, for that matter.” Riko leaned back against the door, gathering her thoughts before continuing.

“I’m really glad that you asked me to coach you, and I’m really happy that I accepted. I feel incredibly lucky that I got to coach all of you and be a part of everything that happened to us over the last three years. I’m even trying to see if they’ll let me come back and coach after we graduate… And it’s because of you guys. Not every coach gets to experience the things I did. It’s been special. And I have you all to thank for you. You formed the team, asked me to coach, and made things happen out on the court. I can’t thank you enough for all of the memories you’ve given me. I’ll never forget them.” She ducked her head, trying desperately to suppress the itching behind her eyes and the tightness in her throat. She didn’t want them to see her cry over their departure.

She made to turn around, pull open the door, and walk back to the gym to begin practice, but she was stopped short when a pair of long arms pulled her back into a tight hug. She hesitated, eyes wide, before finally letting down her barrier and allowing the tears to run down her cheeks. She brought her arms up to hug Kiyoshi’s tall frame, burying her face in the fabric of his T-shirt. To her surprise, she felt another pair of arms circle her shoulders as Hyuuga joined, followed by Izuki, Koga, Mitobe, and Tsuchida. They stayed like that for a long moment, taking strength from each other one last time before they all went their separate ways into college.

Eventually, they began to break away from each other. When they had all separated, Riko went around to all of the players in the room and gave them a proper hug, thanking them for the effort and dedication they had shown for the last three seasons together.

“Well… We should probably head back to the gym soon,” Riko said. “I have to get practice started, but everyone else wants to say… Wants to talk to you as well.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak the word _“goodbye”_ out loud. That would make the situation too final, too real.

“Okay. Lead the way, coach,” Hyuuga said.

Everyone gathered up their bags and slung them over their shoulders, heading for the door. Hyuuga and Kiyoshi hung back for a moment after everyone else had left, taking a final look at a place that had been an integral part of their high school careers.

“We’ll be back,” Kiyoshi said. “It’s not like we can’t ever come back.”

“I know. We just won’t be suiting up to play anymore.”

“We’ll get everyone together to play again, don’t worry.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

They walked from the room together and Kiyoshi pulled the door behind them. As the lock clicked into place, it gave a sense of finality, but Kiyoshi knew that it wasn’t the end. Though one chapter of their lives had come to a close, there were greater doors opening before them that they weren’t even aware of yet.

They walked side-by-side toward the gym, an unspoken agreement between them. This would be the last time they had the chance to just sit and talk with each other for a while, so they took advantage of the opportunity.

“I’m so sick of that word. ‘Final’,” Hyuuga said. “I don’t like it.”

“Then don’t use it,” Kiyoshi said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“I just hate all of this. All of this… Sadness and this stupid weight on my chest. I don’t _want_ to say goodbye.”

“Then you don’t have to say that, either. No one’s going to force you to say it, you know. I don’t think any of us want to say it.”

Hyuuga looked to his friend, who turned to smile back to him.

“Besides,” Kiyoshi said. “It’s never goodbye; it’s just ‘till next time.”


End file.
